Pan Across The Empty Lot
by PandaFire McMango
Summary: This is basically a description of one of Mark's films. It's all sentimental and mushy and more like something I would make in RENT worship than something Mark would, but who cares? The ending is stupid. This is very short, I'm sorry. I had no time, meh.


**movie time! This is postRENT, I suppose. whatever you like.**_  
_

_Pan across Tompkins Square Park. A wind sends piles of dead leaves wheeling and dipping through the air like planes with drunken pilots. Hunched figures slowly patrol the walks, heads bowed against the persistent wind and hands snug and warm in their pockets. A child whines as her favorite toy for the moment, a rag of paper from a magazine, is blown into the sky. The camera zooms in on her red, wailing face and her hand reaching out in a futile attempt to recapture her lost possession. Then it moves to follow the scrap of paper itself, flying higher and higher as each gust of wind lifts it nearer to the sky. As the paper vanishes into the glare of the sun, so does the world within the camera shot, all details obscured in the blast of white light. When the light clears...the camera is no longer in the park. A crowded, noisy restaurant is the new setting, bustling with colorful people and their colorful lives. One in particular, a curvy woman with flowing brown curls, bounces up close._

_"Marky, you naughty boy, put the camera down! C'mon, let's dance!" She begins to shimmy and hum a pop tune. A tall black man wearing a knit cap comes up behind her and laughs. The camera zooms in on his face; shining and full, with a trace of five o'clock shadow edging his trimmed beard. He comes in close to the camera and all of a sudden, the shot goes crazy, waving back and forth across the ceiling and shaking sickeningly. When it finally rights itself, the angle is considerably higher and we see a young blonde man, his glasses askew and hair ruffled. The shot fades to blackness as he rushes the camera, shouting, "Collins, you asshole, give it back!"_

_Images begin to flash into view, appearing and vanishing within a second. A sexy Hispanic girl straddling another blonde man on a bench; a black woman making a grotesque face; an effeminate Latino pounding a pickle tub with slender drumsticks. There are also pictures of objects: a guitar pick, a pair of sparkling blue pants, a lipstick tube, piles of books, even a cowbell. Soon the images are no longer distinguishable as separate pictures; they blur into a single mass of color that shifts and throbs in a hypnotic rhythm. Soon it grows brighter and brighter, finally dissolving into a giant bluish-white blankness. For a moment, there is nothing; then out of the white come dark shapes, which sharpen and focus as the blank screen fades._

_Two people wrapped in a complicated kiss against a tree; the tall black man from before and the young Latino, now dressed in female clothing. The camera lingers on the pair for a moment, then it zooms in on a nearby bush to reveal that the Hispanic girl is crouching there, her legs curled together in a catlike manner. Pan over to the opposite bench, where the brown-haired woman is also lurking. Finally the blonde man with spiky hair and a ragged muzzle of a beard is shown hiding behind a thick lamp post. The kissing couple is unaware of their company; it is evident that neither of them is really thinking of much else but each other. Behind the lamp post, the blond man raises one hand, three fingers extended. He lowers one slowly; then another. As the third goes down..._

_The three of them explode from their hiding places, shouting at the tops of their lungs. The two men burst apart, stumbling away from each other in surprise. The Latino's heels find no purchase on the gravelly path and he crashes to the ground. The Hispanic woman and the brown-haired woman immediately run to him, laughing and struggling to help him up. The tall black man takes the opportunity to grab the blond by the arm and pull him into a headlock, where he grinds his knuckles into the blonde AstroTurf-hair. The camera shot advances upon the scene, zooming on the laughing Latino as he unsteadily gets to his face. He catches sight of the camera._

_"Oh no, mister, you are not getting this on tape!" he laughs, reaching out and covering the camera lens with his palm. Although the screen goes dark, the sound of laughter lingers, most notably the happy, light giggle of the Latino. It finally fades out, only to be replaced with the clear, solemn voice of a young man._

_"These are my friends," he says as another image flickers silently into view; the brown-haired woman sitting on the lap of the black woman, playing with her sleeve and swinging her legs. It is evident that the two of them are talking, though there is no sound. The only audio is the man's voice as it speaks slowly and softly. "Most of them have no family; or at least, no family that they can really love as their own. It doesn't matter though. We are each other's family." The picture changes. The Hispanic girl is rubbing the blonde's shoulders as they recline on a ratty couch. Someone off camera is talking to them, and they are laughing. _

_"Stronger and realer than any blood relations; we are brothers and sisters, mothers and fathers, sons and daughters. We look out for each other, and though we may fight sometimes, what we have goes deeper than disagreements and arguments. There are couples among us...different unto themselves, but all part of us together." The Latino (out of drag) and the black man again, this time sitting on a window ledge, faces pressed together in another kiss. The Hispanic girl bounces into the frame, causing them to break apart and laugh. She settles by the Latino's legs, contentedly crossing her legs and playing with the heavy fabric of his jeans. Next the blonde enters, pretending to sit in the black man's lap before dropping down beside the girl, who squeals and wraps her arms around his neck. As the camera zooms out, the brown-haired woman pops up in the left hand corner, waving and mouthing obscenities. The black woman scolds her, but she's shut up by a tremendous kiss from the brown-haired woman. The action is greeted by cheers from the rest of the group. The image begins to fade. In the background, you can still hear the young man's voice._

_"We might not know why we've been brought together here and now, but it doesn't matter. We have each other and that's not going to change; deep down, we're connected by bonds that not even we can break."_

Mark slowly pressed the pause button on the projector. The film froze and jittered slightly on the screen; a group of people, faces alight with a joy and familiarity that made Mark's chest ache. He sighed and flicked the machine off. It sputtered and died, killing the image as well. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He had made this film so long ago; it seemed like a relic of past times, of forgotten dreams. Why had he made it in the first place? To show to Angel when she needed to forget about the inevitable? To perk Mimi up after her near-death? Just because he felt that the words he had spoken in the movie were really true?

Maybe, maybe not. All Mark knew was that the tears on his cheeks would not stop forming and wetting his face, falling from his jawbone to splatter on the floor and soak into the wood. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and rubbed his eyes hard, trying to hold them back. _Snap out of it, Mark. Keep it together._

Yeah, right.

**bad ending. bad, bad, BAD ending. i just didn't know what to do!**


End file.
